


A Work of Unreadable Art

by scrubbadub



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Timelines, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Other, Timeline Shenanigans, inaccurate bylaws of sburb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrubbadub/pseuds/scrubbadub
Summary: Dirk is trolled by someone he's unfamiliar with. In sole bullshit fashion, the trolling does not go as planned, and it comes to light that a certain session is void and null - unless he completes a tiny quest for said trollian.A non-canon-compliant alternate to what could have been a valiable timeline in Homestuck.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that in canon, the Alpha session is already considered null and void by proxy, since there is an absence of sprites in the direct session; in this instance, the sprites are obtainable through means of SBURB-esque machinery, but can only be obtained through a quest, via a non-accessible party. Lord English never made things easy, did he?
> 
> As always, leave comments and kudoz below!

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] _is being trolled by_ maladjustedMiracle [MM]  _at approximately ???:??:??_ \--

MM: It's time to buckle up, my main splinterbuddy.  
MM: The news I carry's far from pleasant.  
MM: Might even give you the barest hints of motherfuckin' rage, if I've got any inclination how the better half of yesterday works.  
TT: Who the fuck is this.  
MM: The question's gotta be who the fuck ain't this?  
MM: :)  
TT: God.  
TT: It's three in the morning. I don't need this right now.  
TT: I've already got Hal riding my ass right now.  
MM: Mayhaps listen to him. He might have something important to say.  
MM: Highly fucking IMPROBABLE, but.  
MM: You'd know how that shit goes better than a mole in the frozen ground, right?  
TT:  
TT: Why can't I trace your IP? It doesn't have a ping signal.  
MM: That's not important.  
TT: Trivial content, I suppose, but it's still something I'd appreciate knowing.  
MM: :(  
MM: Y'all don't like my cryptic trollsingings, do you?  
MM: Too bad.  
TT: _Who are you?_  
MM: You.  
MM: Not you.  
MM: ONE DETESTABLE MOTHERFUCKER.  
MM: I'm everyone and everything, buddy, and I've got some knowledge you really fucking need to hear.  
TT: How are you me?  
MM: Stay a while and find out. :)  
TT: God. That makes me less inclined to do that. You know that, right?  
MM: Y'all are just a bundle of nerves. Goddamn.  
MM: Shame I don't remember one miraculous conversation like this.  
MM: Your session is void.  
TT. Excuse me?  
MM: Ain't got no sprites, do you?  
MM: Done plopped a big fat one into the computer and down the demo went.  
MM: AIN'T GOT A KERNEL WHAT TO PROTOTYPE.  
MM: I can help you with that.  
TT: ...  
TT: I'm not dealing with this right now. I want to sleep.  
TT: Go be cryptic and bullshit at someone else.  
MM: I wouldn't do that, shadesbro.  


\-- timaeusTestified [TT] _has blocked_ maladjustedMiracle [MM] ! --

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you are very confused. Tired, confused, and not up for dealing with any of this. Sliding out of your computer chair, you maneuver through the mess that litters your room floor and shift onto your bed, rubbing at your eyes belatedly. You can spot red text on your shades, but you don't have the energy to deal with Hal at the moment. You rarely do. It's like talking to a brick wall.

An annoying, self absorbed, narcissistic wall, with no physical throat to throttle, at that.

As usual, sleep does not come easy, but when it does, it is kind enough to be dreamless.

_\--_

Somewhere else, sometime else, a Sprite's hands twitch impatiently. That just won't  fuckin' do, will it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you're wondering what my Dirk headcanons are for this, it's the wonderful art davestrider-ebooks has done for them:  
> http://68.media.tumblr.com/a32a0f0f49c6cfeae9a9d6b8cb4b8ddb/tumblr_o7cf0t1KRY1usa1bmo2_1280.png
> 
> Go check them out!

Your name is still Dirk Strider, and it's been a week since you got bothered by an outside medium. AR is insistent on telling you that it was important, but you brush him off every time, stubborn pride more important than riddles and-

God, who even was he?

The lack of sprites is... worrying, to say the least, and Jane has sent you at least one message about her concerns. You keep the void session comment to yourself while you gristmine, pummeling imps, keeping your mind busier while you chat; your shades ping at you, and you check the client, nose twitching.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] _is being trolled by_ maladjustedMiracle [MM]  _at approximately ???:??:??_ \--

TT: What the fuck do you want.  
MM: It's not what I want.  
MM: It's what you need.  
TT: Bullshit.  
TT: Last time you contacted me in the dead of the night, spitting mostly bullshit, something about this being a void session, and insults about AR.  
TT: I'm not privy to keeping my mouth shut about him even on my best days, so I understand that.  
TT: It doesn't make me want to listen to you any more than I do, though.  
MM: I'll make it quick. I'm already breaking lots of rules.  
MM: Those exist, you know that, right?  
TT: Tick tock.  
MM: :)  
MM: You need your sprites.  
MM: They've been done a good kick into Paradox Space by one devious big boss here.  
MM: You ain't got much of a choice what but to listen, and that's what's got your tongue up in a twist, isn't it?  
TT: ... big boss?  
TT: You mean HIC, right?  
MM: HA.  
MM: No.  
MM: She's as much a pawn in this bullshit as I am, snarky.  
TT: What a convincing and appealing nickname.  
MM: It fits, right?  
MM: No, but you'll need your sprites.  
MM: Done gone and made the alpha session null and void by not having them.  
MM: Without them, Prospit an' Derse won't work right. Won't go gettin' a Green Sun.  
TT: Why are you telling me this?  
MM: Because.  
MM: _I'm real fucking tired of being chased down by time is why._  
TT: You... what?  
MM: Stable time loops, my bro.  
MM: Check your quest line. Gotta go finish that shit.  
MM: Gonna get yourself some sprites and a half.  
MM: :)  
TT: What the fuck?  
TT: Who are you?  
TT: I'm doing approximately jack diddly fucking squat until I get that info.  
MM: Dirk Strider.  
MM: Gamzee Makara.  
MM: USE YOUR IMAGINATION.

\-- maladjustedMiracle [MM] _has ceased trolling_ timaeusTestified [TT]  _at approximately ???:??:??_ \--

"Goddamn it-"

You don't _understand_ , and it's pissing you off. He could be a sprite. He could be a troll, but he knows too much about the game to accurately be one - if he's a First Guardian, he's doing a shitty job of being one, but he shouldn't have known your name like that. You don't know who Gamzee Makara is, but you're inclined to find out, and quickly. Grabbing your sword from your strife spefibus, you pull up a Pesterlog once more, orange eyes narrowing. There are a few imps on the roof you still need to take care of.

"Hal."

Wow, I'm flattered you've decided to grace me with your company. After all this time. I might just shed an ungodly tear.

"If you could lay the bullshit to the side for a moment, I've got something important to ask. Who the fuck is Gamzee Makara?" The stairs are taken two at a time.

I don't know. This is the first instance of having to use that phrase, too. It pisses me off just as much as you.

"Double fucking check. Trace the Pesterlog I had with the goddamn guy, then."

I can't.

" _Why not_?" It's not adding up. The frustration is building in your chest, bubbling up into something not unlike panic, but you box it away with the rest of the emotions you don't have time for, reaching the roof. There's a scantily dressed imp towering over three smaller ones, and fangs jut out of all of their mouths, varying in size.

Not only do the Pesterlogs not have an actual IP to trace, they don't tangibly exist in the system, Dirk. I can read them, but I can't touch them. It's not an existing Pesterchum user, either.

You dash forward, sword at the ready, and flashstep behind the biggest imp. It turns sluggishly and you flick your wrists, watching dark, slick ichor spatter across the pavement; it roars at you, claws at the ready, and the other three imps scatter, unsure of where to move. "Then _find a way_ and do your job, Hal. Either that, or ask Roxy. Send the logs to her for all I care."

Not a good idea. What do I know, though? I am but a humble machine, a program. I am at your will, sir.

"Cut the shit." You could always call Sawtooth out here to deal with them, but the grist would be wasted, and then where would you be? You need it to further advance both on the echeladder and to the next gate, you're pretty sure. Stabbing the imp in the head, you follow it to the ground, feet firmly planted on it's back; it dissipates in an explosion of air and pixels, and grist lands in front of you. It's a substantial amount, but not as much as you expected. Flashstepping, it takes only a few swipes to get rid of the other three, given their size, and, collecting all the fallen grist, you roll your shoulders, sighing. "Look. Make sure Roxy is okay, try and contact him, ask him what's up. Not Roxy, but- you get what I mean, right?"

I mean, that was pretty fucking eloquent, given your vocabulary and diction, but I'll talk to Roxy, yeah. Tell English to stay away from his volcano, by the way.

With that, you check your quest board.


End file.
